


Spaces Between Stars

by TheFandomLesbian



Series: Spencer's Raulson One-Shots [60]
Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: Angst, Bananun, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, raulson - Freeform, set in to light and guard universe but can be read independently, tlag universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23662390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFandomLesbian/pseuds/TheFandomLesbian
Summary: An accident at Mary Eunice's work lands her in the hospital. Lana isn't allowed in to see her until she awakens and gives her consent, but when the nurse reports she has entered a vegetative state, Lana fears Mary Eunice will die alone—just like Wendy.
Relationships: Sister Mary Eunice/Lana Winters
Series: Spencer's Raulson One-Shots [60]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1214643
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55





	Spaces Between Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllyC13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllyC13/gifts), [Misslethwaite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misslethwaite/gifts).



> For a prompt for AllyC13 for Mary Eunice getting hurt and the hospital barring Lana from entering. Also for Bananun dialogue prompts:  
> "I'm really glad you're here with me."  
> "I can't imagine this world without you."  
> “I fell in love with my best friend.”  
> “Can I hold your hand?”

The hair salon buzzed with the shuffling of the pre-Christmas crowd. Mary Eunice snipped the dead ends of the hair of the woman in front of her. “I just have to impress my mother in law for Christmas this year,” the woman fretted. “She said the most awful things to me last year after we had the baby, about how unkempt I looked. Frank doesn’t stand up for me at all.” She drummed her nails on the arms of the chair, unable to stop fidgeting. 

“Well, Miss, I think you look very nice,” Mary Eunice complimented, and she meant it. The woman had lovely strawberry blonde hair falling in curls and brilliant green eyes accentuated by her freckles. She couldn’t imagine anyone insulting her appearance at all. “I should hope your family treats you well for Christmas.” She and Lana had opted not to travel south for the blizzard set to assail the land during the time they planned to leave; instead, she was getting overtime while the snow cascaded down outside the window, coating the streets in gray slush. “Do you know if they got the roads salted and sanded? I thought it wasn’t meant to hit until tomorrow.” 

“They were throwing some sand and salt when I drove here. I don’t know if they were prepared for it to hit this early or not.” Mary Eunice finished touching up the lengths of her hair, and then she combed her hair all the way through. “Are you done already? That was fast.” 

“You have very nice hair, Miss.” Mary Eunice gave her the mirror and spun her around so she could see the back. “Is this how you wanted it?”

She smiled. “Yes, it’s perfect! Thank you.” She collected her purse. “I’m heading to Deidre’s after this,” she said, nodding out the picture window to the nail salon across the street. “Do you hear good things about them?” 

Mary Eunice opened up the cash register and punched in her total. “Yeah, I do. Lots of women go there before or after they’re here. I’ve only heard good things about their services.” She gave the woman her total, and she opened up her purse. Opening her wallet, she placed it on the counter and gave Mary Eunice a bill. Mary Eunice plugged it into the register and then carefully counted out her change twice before she passed it back to her. “Thank you very much. Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas to you, too.” The woman smiled as she accepted her change, folded it back into her wallet, and walked away with her purse over her shoulder, wallet resting on the counter. 

Mary Eunice glanced up at the clock.  _ Time for a drawer count.  _ She opened the cash register and counted the drawer down, starting with her twenties and working her way down. Rifling through the bills, she reorganized them and wrote down the number. Her brow furrowed as she compared it to the book. “Lois?” she called, and Lois perked up and approached from where she had been sweeping up after quite a messy coloring job. “Will you check my math? It looks like we might be ten dollars short.” It was fairly common for Mary Eunice to come up short only for someone else to count the drawer and realize she just wasn’t good at math. 

Lois approached. “Sure thing. Hey, whose wallet is this?” She picked it up from the countertop. 

“Oh—she just left, she must have forgotten it. She said she was going across the street to the nail place. I’ll run it over to her.” Lois handed it to her. 

Stepping out of the beauty shop, Mary Eunice passed between two cars parked on the curb. The graying slush on the road crunched and dipped beneath her shoes. Goosebumps erupted down her arms. Traffic inundated the usually calm street.  _ Perhaps I should’ve gone down to the crosswalk. _ Cars flew by, spraying up the soggy mess as they passed.  _ They ought to slow down. It’s getting slick. _ As the temperature dropped, the snow cascaded more furiously. Windshield wipers pumped with all the force of God’s army to clear the path for families eager to reunite in time for Christmas dinner. 

Once the way was clear, Mary Eunice started across the road, stepping with care as she slid. A car veered around the corner, careening out of control. “Oh, dear.” She tiptoed across the center line, arms outstretched like a penguin to evade the petrified teenage driver fumbling for control of his vehicle. Sliding her way to the opposing side of the road, the sound of metal shattering froze her in her tracks. She whirled to watch in horror.

The teenager’s car glanced off of a parked car. The impact, however, did not slow the vehicle. Striking a patch of black ice, the teenager frantically pumped the brakes. Nothing helped him gain control of his car. It pitched toward her. Paralyzed on the spot, her eyes grew wider and wider as the grill of the oncoming vehicle consumed her vision. 

All of the air knocked out of her lungs. 

Glass sprayed into her face. 

Pain, briefly. 

Then, emptiness. 

Watching from the picture window, Lois screamed, “Mary Eunice!” She dropped the cash register. Coins tinkered across the floor. “Someone call an ambulance!” She charged out into the oncoming blizzard and traffic, which screeched to a halt at all of the wreckage. Lois’s flats slipped across the winter mix coating the asphalt, and she balanced herself out on the hood of a stopped car. “Mary Eunice!” 

Lying half on the sidewalk, half on the road, the still figure didn’t move at the sound of her name. Lois’s eyelashes fluttered against the snowflakes. She stumbled forward and landed on her knees before Mary Eunice’s small, crumpled body. Large pieces of glass protruded from Mary Eunice’s body, tiny lacerations on her face and hands where the shards had struck her and sliced her skin. Blood blossomed from her head. “Mary Eunice—Mary Eunice, wake up, wake up, talk to me—” A crowd gathered around the scene of the accident. 

A man dropped to his knees beside her. “We’ve called an ambulance.” He picked up Mary Eunice’s hand by the wrist, taking her pulse. “She’s still breathing. She’s still got a heartbeat.” Lois stroked her bloodied cheeks. Glass shards dug into her palms. “Can you tell me her name?”

“Yes—Yes, her name is Mary Eunice McKee—Mary Eunice, honey, wake up—” Lois patted her cheeks. 

Blue eyes fluttered, a slight movement. Widely dilated, the pupils refused to focus, and her eyes crossed. “Lana…” Her head lolled. Lois held it to keep it straight so she wouldn’t cause any more trauma to her neck. Her eyes closed again, and this time, they didn’t reopen. 

“Mary Eunice—Mary Eunice!” The sirens in the distance grew closer, and Lois bowed her head as desperate tears melted the snowflakes on her cheeks. 

…

Lana rushed into the emergency room wearing two different shoes and only one sock. Her hair pointed out in every direction, frazzled. Skating into the front desk, she gasped for breath, holding a stitch in her side. The secretary stood up, a perplexed look crossing her face. “Mary Eunice McKee,” Lana gasped. “Pedestrian—motor vehicle accident—where is she?”

The woman tilted her head. “Ma’am, I am not at liberty to disclose any information about the patients in my care. Who are you?” 

“I’m her friend,” Lana blurted.  _ Sister. Dammit. Dammit, I should’ve said sister.  _ It was too late; she couldn’t eat her words. “Please, where is she? Is she okay? Was she brought here? Is she in surgery? What happened?” 

Holding up her hands, the woman placated, “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything without the patient’s consent unless you’re the next of kin. When Miss McKee wakes up, if she consents to see you, I can let you in, but until then, you’re going to have to wait.” 

“No, no, no, you don’t understand, she doesn’t  _ have _ any next of kin,  _ I’m _ as close to next of kin as it gets for her—” The secretary was already growing impatient with her. “ _ Please, _ is she awake? If she’s awake, you can ask her. She’ll tell you to let me in. Or—what floor is she on, at least? Is she still in emergency? Is she in ICU? Is she being admitted overnight? I’ll need to get some of her things, her clothes—her Bible, her crucifix, her rosary, if I give you those things, can they be placed where she is?”

“ _ Ma’am. _ ” The secretary’s sharp voice cut off Lana’s thoughts. Lana’s throat tightened up. “As it is now, Miss McKee is in the surgical theatre, so I highly doubt she is awake. You may bring what you like to be put in her room, but until she’s awake, I can’t tell you anything about her condition or allow you to see her.” A sob choked deep into Lana’s chest. “I understand this is traumatic for you, but unfortunately the rules are in place, and I must follow them. I’m sorry. If you have anything of importance to her, please feel free to bring it, and I can have it taken to her. Otherwise, you’re just going to have to wait.” 

_ Wait. _ Lana’s chest  _ burned _ with agony. Wait? Wait for what? Tears pooled in her eyes. Her voice broke and quaked. “Will you be able to tell me if she—if she—if she doesn’t wake up?” She croaked out the remaining words, finality shivering on them.

The woman touched the back of her hand. “Yes,” she said. “I will.” 

_ She’s going to die alone, _ Lana realized.  _ Just like Wendy did. _ Her stomach heaved. She covered her mouth with her hand and fled the emergency department, past the bushes, out to her car.  _ I’ve got to get her things, she’ll need her things.  _ What if Mary Eunice woke up and didn’t understand why she wasn’t there? What if she resented her for it?  _ Her rosary, her Bible, her prayer journal, her crucifix, her favorite sweater… _

The roads were troubled with ice as night descended over the land in a crepuscular shadow. Lana’s car refused to make it all the way up the driveway. She set the parking brake and stumbled up the icy driveway into her house. Gus waited eagerly by her feet, panting heavily as he barked his greeting. “No, boy, down.” He whined at the reprimand.  _ I have to feed him. _ She shoved a bowl full of kibble at him and ran to their bedroom. 

It was a dream in slow motion, this universe, one of those dreams where she fled an enemy but couldn’t run fast enough, where her legs had weights attached to them, like trying to run through still water. All of Mary Eunice’s things fell together—the rosary, the crucifix, the Bible, the prayer journal. She stacked them on top of one another into a heap and merely grabbed a jacket for herself before she headed for the hospital again.

Carrying the pile of things into the hospital, snow clung to her person and tracked in on her shoes. She stomped it off the best she could. The tile was slippery under her wet shoes. She approached the front desk. “I—I’ve got everything for Mary Eunice McKee…” She studied the things with her eyes.  _ Everything _ wasn’t much of anything. And yet… She slid the prayer journal off of the stack, back to herself.  _ Why? _ She couldn’t read Mary Eunice’s innermost thoughts and feelings. But holding the book made her feel close to her. “Please, her beliefs are crucial to her. It’s very important for her to have all of this.” 

The secretary nodded once. “Thank you, ma’am.” She gave her a soft look. “Feel free to sit in the waiting room. I’ve no idea how long it will be, but you can take a seat.” 

Lana did so. She took a seat, and there she sat, unyielding, for hours. Eight PM bled into eight AM, and at that chime of the bell, she blinked herself from her reverie, still hugging the prayer journal to her chest. As she stood, her head spun with dizziness. She hadn’t eaten anything since Lois had called her.  _ Lois. _ She needed to check on her. Reaching into her purse, she found a dime, and she approached the pay phone, dialing for Barb’s and Lois’s home. It rang twice before someone answered. “Hey,” Lana said into the phone when she heard Lois’s voice. “It’s—It’s me.” She tried to clear the thickness out of her throat. 

“Lana?” Lois gasped. “Oh my god, I was waiting to hear from you! How is she doing? Is she okay? Did she have to have surgery?” 

Tears swelled in Lana’s throat again. She tried to inhale deeply, but her voice crackled with the effort. “I—I don’t know.” She gulped. It did no good. “They won’t tuh-tell me anything, and they can’t let me in until—until she consents.” 

“I don’t understand, why wouldn’t she give her consent?”  _ Oh, Lois. _ Sniffling, Lana wiped at her eyes with her handkerchief, waiting for Lois to answer her own question. “Oh… Oh my god, she’s still not awake?” Lana grunted a faint, affirmative noise in response to that. “Oh dear god.”

_ Focus. _ Lana listened to Lois’s tears crackle over the phone. “Lois, I’m going to run out of time—will you please stop by the house and feed Gus and take him outside? Don’t worry about the mess. I’m sure he’s upset because we’re both gone. Just—his basic needs.”

“Of course, honey, anything—anything I can do—” Lois sobbed harder. “Oh, god, I wish it had been me instead—I was the one who found the wallet, I should’ve been the one taking it across the street.”

“Lois,  _ please, _ ” Lana begged. A selfish part of her whispered,  _ I wish it had been you, too. _ She had already lost Wendy. She didn’t deserve to lose Mary Eunice, too! Fighting to stifle that cruel voice inside of her head, she used the softer part of her heart, the part that knew Mary Eunice all too well. Her sweet, gentle girlfriend with a knack for martyrdom would never have forgiven herself if their roles were reversed; she would have done anything to protect Lois from harm. “ _ Please, _ just take care of Gus. We can talk later.” 

More tears followed. “Okay, I’ll—I’ll just bring him home with me. We’ll keep him for a few days, until you’re ready to care for him again.” 

Lana sighed. That was one relief in a sea of uncertainties. “Thank you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The line died. Lana placed the phone back in its cradle and returned to her seat, eyes fixed on the clock, holding the prayer journal in her lap. A television in the corner played the local news, and it lulled her to some peaceful, strange sleep. 

Licking her dry lips, she lifted her head from where she had hung over her chair. As she moved, her neck popped. “Ow—” Stiffness had her limbs swelling and cracking. Someone had spread a blanket over her and placed a cup of water in front of her. She leaned forward to take it and sipped it. Her head spun with dizziness.  _ I need to eat something. _ Fumbling for her wallet, she took out a dollar bill and headed for the snack machine. Nothing looked appetizing. She wanted to vomit. She bought the cheap bag of pretzels and took them back to her seat in the waiting room, placing them unopened beside the cup of water. 

The hours ticked by, each passing as a millennia and a millisecond simultaneously. Midnight ticked into eight AM again, and as Lana’s exhausted eyes found the clock, she realized she had been sitting in the same spot with few variations for more than thirty-six hours. Someone had brought her fresh water; she hadn’t noticed them. She opened the bag of pretzels and picked through them. Within minutes, her heaving stomach settled.  _ I was starved.  _ She emptied the bag and licked the bottom for the salt pieces. By lunchtime, she got up and bought a pack of crackers from the snack machine. 

Eight PM marked forty-eight hours.  _ Two days, _ Lana realized. It didn’t seem that long. It seemed both much longer and much shorter.  _ She hasn’t been awake in two days.  _ She had survived two days. Lana couldn’t decide which way she wanted to look at it. She hadn’t touched any of the magazines in the waiting room. She had done nothing but listen to the morose news on the television and stroke the front cover of Mary Eunice’s prayer journal. 

She slept some more. She bought more snacks. She cradled the journal like an infant to her breast. She wept. Out the window, the evening began to darken yet again. Then, a nurse approached her for the very first time while she was awake since she had arrived. Lana pushed herself up in her seat, eyes fluttering desperately. “Miss?” The nurse sat beside her. “What’s your name, Miss? You’ve been here for several days.”

Lana’s chest throbbed for lack of breath. “Lana Winters—I’m here for Mary Eunice, is she awake? Has she asked for me?” 

The nurse held up her hand. “I know why you’re here, Miss Winters.” The nurse held a world of sympathy in her eyes, and she touched the back of Lana’s hand. “I need to have a conversation with you.”

“Did she die?” Lana croaked. 

“No—no. No, she is still alive.” The nurse’s reassurance did not quell Lana’s thunder heart. “However, it has been three days, and at this point the doctor is labelling her as having entered a vegetative state.” Lana’s eyes misted with tears. “She sustained a head injury in the accident, and related to that, she is now comatose.” The woman tilted her head as she studied Lana. “It’s been three days. You haven’t showered. You’ve barely eaten.”

Lana shook her head. “I—I need to be here for her when she wakes up. She’ll be so confused when I’m not there, I know she will, she won’t understand why I can’t be back there—”

“Miss Winters.” Lana closed her eyes, fighting the panic building in her chest. “A vegetative state like the one she has entered can last months. Years, even.” The nurse caressed the back of her hand. “Give me your phone number. I’ll pin it right by her file, so if anything changes we’ll call you. You need to go home, take a shower, eat something, and sleep in your own bed. Mary Eunice will be here. I promise.”

_ I need to leave. _ Lana’s throat quivered. How could she face doing such a thing? What if Mary Eunice woke up and she wasn’t here? How betrayed would she feel? How alone? “Okay,” she whispered. Home? Home would be so empty. Gus wasn’t even there. She reached into her purse and removed a steno pad and scrawled her name and number onto it, giving to the nurse. “ _ Please _ call me if anything changes,” she begged. “I’ll come right away.” 

“Of course,” the nurse promised. “Go home. Get some rest. Eat a real meal. We’ll take the best care of her we possibly can.” 

Lana’s breath trembled. “Thank you.”

The road to her house had finally been salted—too late to save Mary Eunice. She pulled up the driveway, and she sat there, Mary Eunice’s prayer journal in her lap. Brown eyes surveyed the front of the house. It was dark. Snowflakes spat from the sky and vanished against its silhouette. Even Gus was not inside. Too quiet, too still, too unwelcoming.  _ I won’t be able to sleep without her.  _ She needed to go somewhere she could feel Mary Eunice. There was only one place for that. 

Entering the parking lot of the Cathedral of the Holy Cross, Lana noted its desolation. She had scarcely seen the church this empty before.  _ It’s ten PM. No wonder nobody’s here. The church is probably locked.  _ She approached anyway. She grabbed the heavy wooden door by the handle and swung, and it opened with a low moaning. The lights illuminated the room. Lana tiptoed across the thin carpet. Her shoes did not disturb the room with a sound. Shuffling up the aisle between the pews, she made her way all the way to the second row of pews. Then, she bowed her head, crossed herself, and took a seat. 

Holding the prayer journal, tears fell from her eyes.  _ I need to feel close to her again.  _ Lana had never really learned how to pray. She could say a Hail Mary or the Lord’s Prayer; perhaps she could fumble her way through the Apostle’s Creed after hearing Mary Eunice recite it enough times.  _ I need to pray a prayer already prayed.  _ Her trembling hands opened the prayer journal. The first few pages—she didn’t want to read those. Those were the pages from when Mary Eunice was still a nun, from when she was laicized, from those darkest moments of her time. Lana didn’t want to revisit those days. 

Instead, she thumbed past April for Mary Eunice’s birthday and began in May. 

_ 5/2/66: Dear God, Today Lana and I took Baby Eunice and Gus to the park. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. We found angels in the clouds, and I told Baby Eunice You sent them especially for us to see. Baby Eunice is almost six now, and next year, she’ll start learning how to read at school. Lana has been teaching her how to write her own name and sound out words. Lana is so brilliant with her. I don’t think she realizes how much of Wendy she still carries with her.  _ A tear rose to Lana’s eye at that line.  _ I haven’t had any nightmares in several days. Thank You for the peace. Please bless my family with love and joy. If we’re lucky, we’ll get to go to Georgia for Christmas this year and see Lana’s family. Send them all of my love, especially little Terry. Please protect her from the violence that can face women and girls like us. Send some grace to Lana, so she may find rest. The passing days are not easy for her. I can only heal her in so many ways, but I love her. She has walked many toiling paths alone. If I cannot fix her, then guide me on how best to walk beside her. All my love, Mary Eunice.  _

Wiping away her tears, Lana flicked to the next page. She blew her nose into her wet handkerchief. It had become sticky. She needed a clean one, but that meant going home, and she couldn’t go home. Instead, she read the next entry, comforted by the sound of Mary Eunice’s voice in her head, narrating the prayers she had written months before. 

_ 5/3/66: Dear God, It’s the middle of the night. I honestly don’t know what time it is, so the date might be wrong. You know what the date is, even if I don’t.  _

_ Lana had a nightmare tonight. She scratched herself until she bled. She used to never tell me the dreams. She tells me the dreams sometimes, now, if I ask her and she wants to. She dreamed she was pregnant again and was trying to tear it out of herself. He was on top of her. I have those dreams, too, about him and her. I don’t tell her. She doesn’t need to know. It is still my greatest regret that I was powerless to help her during her most urgent time of need. _

Tears dripped onto the ink and streaked it. Lana’s chin wobbled.  _ I am trying to help her now. But I feel so powerless. By the time I’m awake, she’s already consumed by her demons. I soothe her, I comfort her, I bathe her when she needs it, I strip the bed and do the laundry and find her fresh nightclothes and bedsheets. I wish I could take all of her pain onto myself. I wish I could do what Jesus did and bear her burdens as my own. I know that is impossible.  _

_ Sometimes, if I think it will be a bad night, I don’t sleep. If the evening is too chaotic, it will be a bad night, if we have Baby Eunice late, or if her family calls after dinner, or even if she hears a noise before bed. Those are the nights I know she’ll dream, so I stay awake. And when I do that, I can catch the nightmare before it comes to a head. I can wake her up before it evolves and kiss it away. I much prefer these nights over the ones where I am too late and I cannot touch her at all without hurting her.  _

Eyelashes fluttering rapidly, Lana covered her mouth with her hand. She had had no idea, though she knew exactly the type of night Mary Eunice referred to—the nights where she awoke with some discomfort, sometimes a little sweaty, buried deep into Mary Eunice’s arms. She never awoke enough to be fully cognizant, only enough to smell Mary Eunice and enjoy a few kisses (and, occasionally, if her mentality could allow, an orgasm). When she fell back to sleep, she was always safer and more comfortable than before. 

_ I know this is forever, what has happened to her, so I stay awake at night when she needs me and I don’t mind. I know she would do and has done the same for me. But I hate to see her so tormented. Please guide me on the best way to bring her some lightness of spirit. Please bring her comfort and joy. Please let her trust me enough to mourn. I know sometimes she wants to mourn alone, and I understand, but I also want to support her. I don’t expect to ever replace Wendy. I would give anything in the world to give her back to Lana. I would take her place if I could.  _

_ My love for her is so holy. Sometimes I am shocked when I remember others don’t think so. How I love Lana is how I feel closest to You. I see You in Lana’s face. I believe the things I feel for her are the closest to heaven I will ever come on this mortal plane. I want to bring her all of the joy she brings me and more. I want to put all of the love I have for her inside of her and fill her up so she’ll never be unhappy or empty again. I pour from my cup of love for her, but I never reach the bottom.  _

_ My unholiest thoughts are also for her, as well. Not the sexual thoughts—I know we would be married if the government allowed and I consider her my wife in every sense of the word. It’s the hateful thoughts I have toward those who have harmed her and those who continue to do so. Those thoughts will be my undoing. Father Joseph tells me forgiveness is, eventually, necessary for recovery. I believe most of the things Father Joseph says, but I’m not sure if I believe that. I cannot forgive what was done to Lana, not at Briarcliff, not by Bloody Face, not by the government for placing so many barriers around our relationship. And if I can’t forgive, I can’t expect her to, either. I know I’m rambling at this point to try to keep myself awake, because I want to be awake if Lana’s nightmare comes back. But the expectation of forgiveness for either of us seems so high and out of reach.  _

_ If it is true that forgiveness is necessary, please grant us both the strength to reach that point. If it isn’t necessary, then I think I’d like to hold onto my hate for a little bit longer. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s comforting at this point. It’s familiar. If I didn’t feel hate, what would I feel when Lana is so hurt and I have to try to help her? I can’t imagine any other emotion in that place. I know it is wrong to be vengeful. I know it is wrong to be hateful. I know it is wrong to wish hell on anyone… but I hope Bloody Face is burning. I hope he is experiencing more pain than he ever dealt to anyone on this earth. If that wish is my condemnation, it is something I will accept with my head held high.  _

_ I look at her now, and she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen before in my life. She’s so peaceful and precious when she’s asleep. I cleaned the wounds where she scratched herself and put bandaids, and she didn’t put her shirt back on. When I stroke her back, she makes a happy sound. I am so grateful for every moment I get to spend with her. Every sleepless night is a treasure. I hope the nightmares get better with time. I hope she’s able to heal. I hope one day the world will be more welcoming toward us. I hope one day we’ll be able to marry… I doubt it, but I pray. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with her, to grow old together with her if that is in Your plan for me. I adore her more with each day that passes. I think I could write something new I love about Lana each day of the year.  _

_ I am so tired, but the sun has another hour before it starts to rise. I’ll make breakfast then, and then I’ll take a nap when I know Lana is awake. Until then, I’ll list everything I love about her. 1.) Her freckles. 2.) Her moles. 3.) Her laugh. 4.) The way she turns the steering wheel with one hand and puts her other hand around the passenger seat when she’s driving in reverse. 5.) The way her southern accent comes out when she’s frustrated or talking to her family. 6.) How she kisses me after my nightmares.  _

The list continued, but Lana could read no more, hanging her head as an inconsolable sob tore through her. She brought her fist to her lips to muffle it, biting her knuckles as she curled up into a ball and closed her eyes. The dimly lit, deserted church held no witnesses—so she thought. Tremoring from head to toe, Lana drew her knees to her chest. The sound of a heavy door slamming closed snapped her head upward, but panic had taken hold; she could no longer control her arms and legs. 

“Miss Winters? What on earth are you doing here?” Father Joseph approached her from where he had emerged from his chambers, surprisingly still in his habit. He sat on the pew beside her and pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket. Her sweating hands refused to unclench long enough to accept it, but he didn’t mind. Instead, he lifted it to her face and gingerly wiped away her snot and her tears while she shuddered in the grips of her anxiety attack. A million questions rested in his eyes, but he did not ask them. Instead, he asked, “Is your medication in your purse?” and she jerkily nodded. He opened her purse and found the bottle of Valium. With strong hands, he opened the bottle and placed one pill in the palm of her trembling hand. “Do you need any water?”

Water would’ve helped, but she couldn’t wait. She shook her head and swallowed it dry. 

As she quivered and tried to focus on what was real (nothing, it was nothing, nothing felt real), Father Joseph rested one warm hand on her shoulder, and he prayed quietly. He smelled like coffee and cinnamon and peppermint; Mary Eunice had once described him as smelling like Santa Claus, and while Lana had disregarded her at the time, now she understood. He, indeed, smelled like she had always imagined Santa Claus would smell. 

Her breath hitched in her throat as she quieted. “Miss Winters,” Father Joseph addressed again, “it’s the middle of the night. What’s going on? What happened? Where’s Mary Eunice?” 

She hiccuped. “She’s in the hospital.” He kept his hand resting on her shoulder, not immobilizing, only providing comfort. “There was—an accident. At her work.” Her eyes welled with tears. “A car—while she was crossing the street.” His brow quirked with concern as he tilted his head. His eyes also glistened with tears, but he didn’t interrupt her to speak. “They won’t let me in, I—I’m not family, I told them she doesn’t have family but they say she has to consent before I can visit and—” Her voice choked off. She quaked, both from cold and from grief. He put his arm around her. His hug was like that of her father but warmer and softer, less rugged and sharp and more round and whiskery. “I spent three days—I thought she’d wake up, she has to wake up—” She hiccuped again. “The nurse said—it’s a vegetative state—she told me to leave. She said it could be months—or years—or never.” Her belly flipped. “I went home, but I couldn’t go inside. It was too—too dark, and cold, and empty—I just can’t go through all of this again, I  _ can’t _ , the first time was impossible, twice is too much, she’s dying alone and  _ I’m not there  _ and that’s not fair—” She buried her face in her hands. 

“I’m so sorry.” Father Joseph wept small tears as well, his voice thick with the overwhelming emotion. The tears fell down his cheeks into his beard. He hugged her like one would hug a small child, and she felt safe that way—as safe as she could feel when she was alone with a man after dark, anyhow. “Miss Winters, it’s the middle of the night. You need to rest.”

She shook her head. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t sleep, I can’t go to sleep, I can’t go home—” 

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “And, frankly—I say this with love. But you desperately need to shower. You smell rather rank.” She hadn’t smelled herself, but she hadn’t showered or changed her clothes since she left for the hospital three days ago, and the clothes had arguably been dirty then. “If you don’t think you can return home, my chambers are free for you to use… You may shower. I have an unused toothbrush and some clean clothes.” 

Lana gave him a sad, somewhat baleful look. “Father, I—I don’t mean this offensively, but the last time I entered a man’s living quarters, it didn’t end very well for me.” 

“Oh, of course, I understand.” Father Joseph considered for a moment, and then he amended, “Then I’ll come with you. Is that more suitable?” Lana was uncomfortable with the proposition. Her face reflected it. “Mary Eunice will not forgive me if I leave you in this state. Let me take you home. And tomorrow morning, we can go to the hospital together. They’ll let me in as a chaplain. I can stay with her as long as it’s necessary.”

Hanging her head, Lana stared at the floor. She was going to be uncomfortable whether she allowed him to come home with her or not; she would either lie there in the silence filled with sadness and terror at every scraping sound, or she would lie there in silence filled with sadness and terror that every sound was Father Joseph turning into someone much more demonic and vitriolic. And he was right—Mary Eunice would not want her to suffer alone. “Misery loves company,” she allowed, voice barely reaching beyond her throat. 

Giving her an affectionate pat, Father Joseph nodded. “Let me get a few things.” He returned from his chambers in five minutes with a modest bag of his necessities. 

Extending an arm to her, he helped Lana to her feet. Her legs threatened to cave beneath her, but he guided her gently up the aisle to the large doors, out into the blackness of the night, where only the snowflakes reflected the moonlight for them. 

Driving home was a task accomplished in silence. Lana’s eyelids were heavy from the Valium. Father Joseph did not ask her to speak; he kept his thoughtful, troubled gaze to the window. His jaw shifted every so often. As she pulled up into the driveway, she fumbled with her keys. Nothing wanted to come into focus. Father Joseph steadied her shaking hand. “Let me.” He placed one hand on her back, the other unlocking the front door. He pushed it open for her. She stumbled inside and felt around for the lamp on the end table. It illuminated the room in dim, yellow light. “Miss Winters, please, go take care of yourself. I’ll be here if you need me.” 

Lana nodded slowly, licking her lips. She wanted to be a good hostess. But she didn’t have the energy to do anything for him, and his worried eyes followed her around the room, unable to let her do anything beyond her own basic needs. “Thank you, Father.” Head low, she headed down the hallway and closed her bedroom door firmly behind her. 

She didn’t look at the bed. It was made neatly, just the way Mary Eunice always did it after they got out of bed in the mornings. Lana had never valued a made bed, but Mary Eunice found it important, so every morning, she made it up neatly. Every night, they drew back the covers and sank onto the mattress together. Lana reached into her wardrobe and found her most conservative flannel pajamas, and she closed the door to the bathroom. 

Part of her wanted a bath, but she feared she would fall asleep and drown.  _ I wish I would. _ She would prefer to die now than face a future without Mary Eunice in it. Stripping herself of her clothing, she started the shower, taking her toothbrush and toothpaste into the shower with her so it wouldn’t take as long. 

The grease scrubbed from her hair. Father Joseph was right; she smelled. She felt grubby, sticky, like a child who had gone too long without a bath. The sweet smells of the soap and shampoo floated around her. The steam lifted her hair upward into a frizz. With her soft washcloth, she scrubbed herself down, suds and water running in rivulets down her body. Her eyes blurred with rheum. She struggled to keep them open. 

Stepping out of the shower, she dried herself and donned her flannel pajamas. She wrung out her hair, replaced her toothbrush and toothpaste on the sink. Tossing her soiled clothes into the hamper, she returned to the living room. Father Joseph knelt in front of the crucifix on the wall. Lana stopped where she stood, careful not to make a sound to disturb him. She bowed her head in deference. He mouthed a few more words, and then he rose with a grunt of effort. “Miss Winters.” She lifted her head. “Don’t you think you should get some sleep?” 

Her lower lip trembled. “I—I can’t get into bed without her.”

The bed had never been empty, she realized, never her alone. It had been hers and Wendy’s, and then it had been hers and Mary Eunice’s, and during the short interim between the two, she had spent her nights restless on the couch with her gun loaded on the end table. 

The corners of his eyes crinkled with empathy. He rubbed his temple with one finger. Deep bags and red rims circled his eyes.  _ He’s been crying, too. _ Lana’s heart broke. What the hell was she doing? She couldn’t handle her first loss, so she brought home a nun, and now she was going to bring home a priest?  _ God is going to hate me for stealing all of the holy people.  _ “I understand. Do you mind if I use your restroom?” She opened her arm in invitation, and he rose, thanking her as he passed by her. 

Lana sat on the opposite end of the couch from his things and opened Mary Eunice’s prayer journal again to another page. 

_ 6/18/66: Dear God, Today was a good day. Lana didn’t feel well, but she let me spend the day taking care of her. I am upset she doesn’t feel like herself. But I especially love the days we get to spend the whole day in bed together or on the couch together. Reruns of  _ The Twilight Zone _ played all day. Lana loves that show. It scares me. But then I get to hide my face in her hair. I cooked her favorite snacks. I brushed her hair. We took a warm bath together, and she let me wash her hair and her body.  _

_ I dried her off and put lotion all over her body. Then I made love to her. She wanted to make it back, but she’s so exhausted. I told her no. Giving to her is my greatest pleasure. There are so many times when she can touch me but she can’t receive my love. I let her. I know she needs the catharsis. Giving myself to her is the most generous I can be in those times. But I miss the way she tastes when she can’t accept my love. She is so beautiful when she is consumed with pleasure. I miss being able to give that to her. Tonight was special.  _

_ Of course, every time with Lana is special, and I suppose it’s meant to be. The first time she took me, I was so afraid. I thought I would lose something of myself. Church always taught me that virginity is something powerful, that you’re tarnished once you lose it. But I lost nothing when Lana took my body into her arms and made it something else. All my life I imagined sex to be this dirty, horrible thing, something a man does to a woman and she tolerates because she married him. I know how wrong that idea is now. Sex with Lana is so much more than that. We could do it every day, and I think I would still crave it.  _

_ She’s asleep now. She likes it when I pet her hair and rub her back. It always makes her feel better. I’m watching her for awhile. Lots of times when she doesn’t feel well, the nightmares come back. I’ll stay awake for a few hours so I can intervene if she starts to have a dream. _

_ Father Joseph has been teaching me some meditation and centering techniques to help me reduce anxiety and fall to sleep easily. They’ve been working with me. I want to share them with Lana, but she can be so stubborn sometimes. She told me once, a long time ago, that she doesn’t try to get better because she thinks she deserves to suffer. Sometimes I worry she still feels that way, on the inside, and doesn’t tell me. She has suffered enough. We are healing together.  _

_ She would not like some types of the meditation. Loving-kindness meditation is basically prayer, and I know she would throw that out in a heartbeat. She prays with me sometimes, but I know it doesn’t mean the same thing to her as it does to me. He also taught me to do progressive meditation, focusing on each muscle of the body and tightening it up, and then releasing all of the tension. I’ve done it. It makes me sleepy, but it also makes me have to pee. Then, once I’ve gotten out of bed and taken care of that and flushed the super-loud toilet, I’m not sleepy anymore.  _

_ He taught me about the five senses, how to focus in an anxiety attack. That does help me a lot. I should pass that on to her. Five things you can see. Four things you can hear. Three things you can feel. Two things you can smell. One thing you can taste. By the end, reality will seem more real. It helps me keep my anxiety in check. I’ll tell her about it.  _

Lana smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she struggled to focus on the elegant script in Mary Eunice’s handwriting. Mary Eunice had passed along the technique, and Lana had used it quite often with her assistance. For a time, she had gone without her Valium completely, the longest spell she had gone without it since it had been prescribed. It helped a lot. The cloudiness fogged up Lana’s eyes again, but she couldn’t put down the journal, Mary Eunice’s sweet words. 

_ I’ve also been doing another grounding technique that’s much simpler. Press your tongue up against the back of your front teeth and take the deepest breath you can. Then let it out. If I do it a few times, I fall asleep lickety split.  _

_ Not tonight, though. I’ve got a devotional to read for the next hour or so, just so I know Lana is okay.  _

_ All my love forever, Mary Eunice McKee.  _

Mary Eunice hadn’t passed on the second suggestion to Lana. Her eyelashes fluttered. She decided to try it. Her tongue pressed up against the back of her two front teeth. Her lungs expanded. In, in, in, more, until it ached. Then, she released. All of the air rushed from her like a released balloon. Her stomach softened and chest sank.  _ Oh, that feels good. _ She did it again. The tension in her shoulders rolled out. Nothing ached as it had before. Again, and her eyes dropped and refused to open. Again, and she faded away. 

Her chin rested on the open prayer journal, open to that page. A thick string of drool dripped from the corner of her lips. Father Joseph found her there, slumped over. “Miss Winters?” She puffed a quiet snore in return. Exhaustion had finally gotten the better of her. “Lana?” he asked again as he approached, and again she did not move or answer. “Poor girl.” With one gentle hand, he slid the prayer journal out from under her face and closed it so the drool wouldn’t streak the ink. 

Mary Eunice would not fault him for ignoring Lana in her time of need. 

He took the prayer journal back to the bedroom and placed it on the bedside table. Then, he came back up for Lana. “Miss Winters?” he asked one more time for good measure. She didn’t stir. Carefully, like picking up a sleeping baby, he lifted her up.  _ Much heavier than a sleeping baby _ . He was not as strong as he had been in his prime. But he was strong enough. Her limbs curled. She turned her head against his shoulder, mumbled a soft sound, and then settled.  _ She’s been sapped.  _

With deference, he placed Lana’s head on the pillow with the brown hair on the case. Her arm snaked beneath it and hugged it. Folding the covers around her, he tucked her into bed and turned out the bedside light. Stepping back, he lingered for a moment, watching her silhouette and the rise-fall of her chest.  _ Should I stay?  _ He could draw up a chair and wait. 

_ No,  _ he decided. Lana Winters would definitely not appreciate waking up to find a man watching her sleep. 

He headed back up the hallway to the couch and opened up his overnight bag, all of the things he had packed in his haste. He examined them. Then, he plotted out all of the sins he had planned for tomorrow. 

…

The next morning, Lana’s eyelashes fluttered. She clutched the pillow close to her chest and buried her face in it. “Hm…” She had had no dreams. The house smelled of bacon and eggs and grits.  _ Mary Eunice is making breakfast. _ She stretched out her limbs across the mattress, stifling a yawn with the palm of her hand. The sheets were so crisp beneath her. They were cool and untangled.  _ What happened last night? _

Her jaw snapped shut at the realization.  _ Last night. _ She sat bolt upright in bed. She didn’t remember  _ going _ to bed at all. Her last memory was on the couch, with the prayer journal— _ the prayer journal! _ Her head jerked to the side, but the prayer journal was on the bedside table.  _ I must have put it there when I came to bed. _ She touched the side of her face.  _ Father Joseph. Father Joseph is here.  _ That was why she smelled breakfast—he had presumably invited himself to her kitchen, which was fair enough, since she had not been in a good enough frame of mind to invite him to do anything, and he had been kind enough to accompany her here and care for her. 

_ We have to go back to the hospital.  _ A huge burden lifted from Lana’s shoulders. Father Joseph  _ could _ go in to see Mary Eunice. He  _ could _ see how she was doing,  _ could  _ tell Lana what to expect. It was not the same as getting to see Mary Eunice herself, but it was as close as she was going to get, at least until Mary Eunice woke up—if that day would ever come. 

With these thoughts in mind, Lana swung herself out of bed and entered the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and combed through the tangled mess of her hair. Once it framed her face in its regular way and caught the light the way she liked, she went back into her room and dressed herself, finding a clean skirt and blouse. 

Straightening her outfit in the mirror, Lana double checked to ensure she was presentable. She doubted, after last night, she could do anything to redeem her pride in the eyes of Father Joseph, but she would be damned if she didn’t at least try.  _ I certainly have seen better days. _ But she had seen much worse days, too, and all things considered, she looked better than she had the night before. Sighing to herself, she turned on her heel and headed up the hall, following the smell of breakfast. 

Sunlight flowed in through the windows, bathing the living room in yellow love. From the kitchen, Father Joseph’s shadow danced across the floor. Something about the shadow struck Lana as odd, but she didn’t place her finger on it until she rounded the corner. Father Joseph had his back to her. He wore khaki pants and a short-sleeved plaid button down shirt.  _ I’ve never seen him with his habit before _

He turned to face her. Her jaw dropped. “Good morning, Miss Winters!”

“What happened to your face?” At her sharp question, all of the mirth dropped from Father Joseph’s freshly and wholly shaven face. His thick, carefully manicured facial hair had vanished. His reddened chin and cheeks exposed, Lana noticed for the first time the sheer roundness of his face. Salt-and-pepper hair combed back and off to one side, he had slicked it into a style. “I mean—you look forty-five.” 

The blunt tone to her voice caused him to raise his eyebrows, and in spite of himself, he laughed. “I don’t know whether you mean to flatter me or insult me, so I will say  _ thank you. _ ” Lana closed her mouth, blush rushing to her face. “Would you like some breakfast?” 

Licking her lips, Lana quieted herself. “I’m sorry, I—clearly, my brain is not operating at full capacity and I lack any amount of tact.” She went to his side. He still smelled like Santa Claus. “Yes, um… thank you. I suppose I meant to ask  _ why _ ?”

Father Joseph stepped back and allowed her to take a small plate of eggs and bacon. He had made two mugs of coffee. She took one. “I decided that it may not work out in our favor for me to enter the hospital as a chaplain. In all likelihood, Mary Eunice has probably already been blessed and given her Last Rites, and if I go as a priest, then I’ll have nurses and doctors calling me all over the hospital for service.” Lana pursed her lips, tilting her head.  _ So why did you shave? _ she wanted to ask, but she held her tongue, awaiting his explanation. “Instead, I thought it may benefit our goal if I wear a disguise and tell the nurses I’m Mary Eunice’s estranged father.”

Lana’s eyebrows shot upward. “You’re going to  _ lie? _ ” He shrugged and nodded, taking his own coffee and drinking from it. “Isn’t that—a sin?” she sputtered. 

“You sound like Mary Eunice.” Lana choked on her coffee. “Yes, technically. But I find it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.” He went to stroke his beard. He grimaced as his fingertips brushed his bare chin. “While vanity is outside of my practice, now you have me concerned. Does it truly look that horrible?” 

_ He’s going to lie to so many people just for me and Mary Eunice. _ Guilt plagued Lana’s insides. Mary Eunice would never want anyone to violate their vows on her account. But Lana was too selfish to argue against Father Joseph’s plan. “No, it looks—you look fine. You look like Father Joseph’s forty-five year old son.” 

Again, he chuckled. “The last advice my grandmother ever gave me was that no one would accept advice from a priest who looked fourteen. I was almost twenty-eight. Glad to hear it followed me with my age.” 

Lana considered and nodded. She took her plate to the kitchen table and sat down, picking at her breakfast. “Thank you for cooking, Father.” Father Joseph followed her to the table with his own plate of food. “I—I apologize I wasn’t in my right mind last night to invite you to anything. I swear I’m usually a much better hostess.” 

He smiled. “Miss Winters, I came to take care of you. I don’t require any hosting. Especially not now. I know things aren’t easy for you.”

She nodded again, thoughtfully. “Thank you. I—I’m not myself. I don’t even remember going to bed last night. I must have been sleep walking. Did I speak to you?”

He cut up his eggs with his fork. “Yes,” he said, not looking up from his plate, “I believe you told me goodnight. It was very late.”  _ So I was sleep walking. _ “I don’t expect anything from you, Miss Winters. I know this is difficult for you. I’m here to help however I can.”

“Thank you, Father.” Lana stared down at her plate. She wasn’t hungry. She made herself eat, anyway, knowing she needed a full meal after days of subsisting on pretzels and potato chips and other things she could swipe from the vending machine. “I appreciate it… and I know Mary Eunice does, too.” Her eyes watered at the thought. Her stomach flipped. She shoved away all of those thoughts. She couldn’t start worrying now, not until she knew more about Mary Eunice’s prognosis. 

A warm, soft hand touched the back of Lana’s. “She is a very dear friend of mine. I don’t pretend my pain rivals yours right now, but I’m here to support both of you. I want you to know that.” Lana whispered her thanks. 

They ate in silence. When Lana cleared her plate, she stared pointlessly down at it, fork still in her hand, until Father Joseph rose and took her plate from her. He wrapped his fingers around hers and delicately pried the fork away from her until she relinquished it, blinking and shaking herself from her reverie. The grain of the table had patterns in it. How many times had she traced those patterns with her fingers while she and Mary Eunice had shared dinner and chatted? She had no idea. The shapes were familiar and yet strange. 

Father Joseph washed the dishes in silence and put them away.  _ Now he’s doing my chores for me. _ Lana was too numb to rush to the rescue. Her emotions kept pinging back and forth between grief and anger and nothing at all. She had forgotten about this stage, this upheaval; Mary Eunice had cut it short the first time, had had a shoulder for her to cry on and a soft embrace where she could bury herself on her darkest nights.  _ Well, I’m not doing any of that with Father Joseph. _ She needed Mary Eunice.  _ I don’t know what I’ll do without her. _

She wasn’t without her yet. She needed to stay positive. She needed to learn how to pray and start practicing it fast. She wished she would have kept Mary Eunice’s rosary; she hadn’t a clue how to pray it properly, but she wanted to hold it, to feel it and feel close to Mary Eunice as she did. Rising from the chair, she found her heels and her purse, and as Father Joseph emerged from the kitchen, he scanned her. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. She nodded. “Me, too.” 

The car ride to the hospital was silent once again. Lana parked the car in the lot. She glanced sideways at Father Joseph, who bowed his head. His fingers danced across the crucifix of his rosary. Lana waited with her eyes on the floorboard of the car for him to finish, and when he did, he touched her hand. She lifted her eyes back to his and forced a smile. “Are you sure you want to lie to them?” she asked. She had to ask; she had to give him an out in case of any lasting doubts on his mind. 

He, too, smiled, a grim and sad thing. “I like to think there are acceptable sins. I think a sin done out of love is not a sin at all. So—yes, I’m sure.” He squeezed her hand. 

Lana hesitated. Then, she asked, “Father, I appreciate your help, but… What are we going to do if she doesn’t wake up today? Or tomorrow? I sat in the waiting room for three days straight, so I know it’s not a sustainable model of functioning, and the church is going to miss you eventually. There’s only one of you.” 

“There’s only one of me, but there are many priests. I can easily find someone to cover the Cathedral while I’m occupied, at least for a few weeks.”  _ A few weeks? _ How much of his time was he willing to dedicate to her? Guilt prodded Lana’s insides. “And if she requires more than that, I can always take a sabbatical. Plenty of time to pray and learn, which is the core of the Dominican Order of the Preachers. The diocese will approve it.” 

Lana sucked on her lower lip. “I don’t expect you to sacrifice so much.” 

“I know you don’t.” Father Joseph hugged her again.  _ Ugh, he smells like Santa Claus. _ Hugging him made her feel like a little girl again, burying herself in her father’s arms.  _ Dad never smelled so good, though.  _ “Let’s go inside.” 

They entered the hospital side-by-side, approaching the front desk. The nurse behind the desk stood at the sight of her. “Miss,” she greeted. “We told you we’d call if Miss McKee asked for you. We can’t let you in until she’s awake.”

“I know.” Dark eyes darted up to Father Joseph, whose friendly affectation had faded into a more stern, stoic look. “I found her next of kin. Since I was barred from her room, I thought it the least I could do to find someone who wasn’t.”

The nurse appraised Father Joseph. He extended a hand to her. “I’m Joseph McKee. I’m Mary Eunice’s father.” 

Skepticism colored her face, but then it passed as she shook his hand. “Very well, sir. Come with me. Miss, if you’ll stay here.” Father Joseph exchanged a glance with her, and then he followed the nurse from the waiting room. Lana, releasing a pent-up sigh from her lungs, headed to the short sofa up against the wall and gazed up at the television, playing the same news station it had played for the past several days. She watched the colors of the weather channel pass by. She had nothing but time. 

…

Father Joseph didn’t know what he had expected when he entered the hospital room. The nurse led him inside and closed the door behind herself. The curtain was drawn closed in spite of the closed door. He wanted to peek behind the curtain, but instead, he addressed the nurse first. “Can you tell me what’s been done for her? What is her prognosis?”

She smiled. “Sure.”  _ She didn’t even ask to see my ID.  _ Mary Eunice’s life partner, who knew her better than anyone, had to stay in the waiting room for days on end, but a complete stranger could tell the front desk he was a patient’s relative and get fast-tracked to her room. It was something for him to pray on, at a later time, but now, he listened to the nurse. 

“Miss McKee has a broken ankle, a few broken ribs, a broken collarbone, and a dislocated shoulder and knee. The doctors were able to reset her shoulder and her knee without much struggle, and her ankle has been set. She was very fortunate that her ribs didn’t harm her heart or lungs.” He rolled his fingers over his rosary in the pocket of his habit. “She had a significant skull fracture. There was bleeding on her brain. But Dr. Hardinge is optimistic that the emergency surgery corrected the bleeding and the pressure on her brain in time and she won’t have lasting neurological damage.”

Father Joseph licked his lips uncertainly.  _ I need to tell Lana all of this. _ He couldn’t leave the room right away; that would look too conspicuous. They could begin to suspect him. “Is there a chance that—that she will have lasting damage?”

The nurse’s smile was sad. “Dr. Hardinge is optimistic, but… yes, there is a chance she may have residual damage. We won’t know until she wakes up.” 

“How long is that expected to take?”

She scanned him once. “We don’t know. Her state is considered vegetative at this point. It could be today, tomorrow, or next week. Today is day four.” She shifted her weight from foot to foot, fidgeting with her name badge. “After one month, the chances of recovery drop. After six months, they drop some more, and after a year, they drop some more. After five years, the chances of her recovering are basically null.” Father Joseph swallowed hard, a lump budding in his throat.  _ Years? _ Would they truly bar Lana from her room for  _ years? _ If Mary Eunice was inclined to try to recover for anyone, it would be Lana; he was but a very distant second place in that regard. “But today is  _ only _ day four. After an ordeal like what she went through, she needs time to rest. Sleep is the panacea for all ills. At this point, we have every reason to be confident in her chances of healing completely.” 

“Until then—what is she receiving? For food? What care does she need?”

“We placed a nasogastric tube for nutrition. The doctor decided that was best for short-term use. If this goes on much longer, we’ll place a tube directly into her stomach instead. She’s receiving IV fluids and antibiotics. She’s on some pain medication to control any residual pain she may be experiencing from her fractures and from surgery. She was on oxygen when she first arrived, but she hasn’t needed any oxygen supplementation in several hours. Her pulse is steady and strong, and her blood pressure has been good. Overall, she’s fairly healthy, all things considered.” 

Father Joseph nodded slowly. “Has she received her Last Rites?” 

“Father Anthony was here the night she was admitted and blessed her. Would you like me to call him?” 

Shaking his head, Father Joseph held up his hand. “No, no—thank you.” He had only met Father Anthony a handful of times, but the chances he would be recognized were too great. “Thank you, nurse.” 

“You’re very welcome, Mr. McKee.”  _ God, forgive me. _ “Please, hit the call button if you need anything. I’ll have a lunch menu brought in shortly, so you can eat here with her.” He thanked her again, and she excused herself from the room, closing it behind her. 

In the silence, Father Joseph pulled the curtain, tiptoeing around it. On the bed, Mary Eunice lay supine, as tiny and gray as he had ever seen her. More than half of her beautiful hair had vanished. Razor burn covered her scalp alongside a vicious, angry incision down her left temple. The blonde hair had just begun to regrow into a slight stubble. Tape adhered a skinny yellow tube to the side of her face where it vanished into her nose. An IV protruded from her left forearm. The hospital gown had ridden up her thighs, the blankets bunched down at the foot of the bed. One foot was in a cast; the other had a sock which had slid off of her ankle and now barely stuck to her toes. “They’ve got you in quite a mess, here, haven’t they, dear?” 

With his burly fingers, he adjusted her sock, pulling it back snugly up her ankle and twisting it around so the sticky part was on the sole of her foot. “Just in case you decide to take off.” Goosebumps covered her arms and legs. “Let’s warm you up.” He unfolded the blanket, pulled down the skirt of her gown, and he rolled the cover up to her chest. “There we are. Nice and cozy.” 

He could not give her hosts, nor could she confess, while she was unconscious. But there were still some rites he could perform. “ Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.” He touched her forehead and brushed what remained of her hair out of the way. With the back of his hand, he caressed her cheek. Her eyes didn’t flutter at the touch. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.” 

Watching her chest rise and fall, he uttered his last prayer. “This is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Happy are those who are called to his supper.” She could not take communion. Pulling up a chair beside her bed, Father Joseph sat down. A comb rested on her bedside table. Sweeping the remaining third of her hair off of the pillow, he took the comb and brushed through her golden locks, careful not to tug with the incision so close. 

Some of the tangles were too tight for him to battle.  _ It might have been better if they had taken everything, instead of leaving a third of it.  _ He had no idea what Mary Eunice would have preferred. He was sure Lana did—but clearly the hospital had no intentions of asking Lana’s opinion about anything. “You’ll be lucky if we don’t have to cut these mats out, you will,” he tutted to her, hoping she could hear him. “Your beautiful hair… Poor, brave girl.” 

The comb settled on the nightstand with a soft  _ click. _ “I know you have always said that you feel very old, because you are much older, now, than your parents were when you lost them.” His throat closed as he said the words aloud. It had hurt before when she had said it—but then, he had never considered the fact it might come true, that Mary Eunice could decide she had lived long enough before she even turned thirty because her idea of age was warped by all the losses she had suffered in her short life. “But you are still far, far too young to give up…” A single tear fell from his eye. It burned on his itchy, freshly shaven cheek. “And there is a woman out there who will lose what little is left of her mind if you don’t come back to her.” 

As he leaned forward in his seat, his back ached, reminding him of the lie he had told Lana this morning. “And it would break my heart, as well. You are my dear friend.” He touched her hand, the same as he had touched Lana’s several times. Lana’s hand was warm and jumpy and never quite knew whether or not it wanted to accept his touch; he made her nervous, no matter how cautious he was toward her. Mary Eunice’s hand was still and bitterly, horribly cold. “I made a great sacrifice for you, you know. I lost my beard. Surely you want to wake up and see that. Your companion was so distraught, she nearly insulted me before she got her wits about her. But I hope you would have something much nicer to say.” 

Seeing her unmoving, nothing provoking her to life, quivered a sorrow inside of him. “I suppose I’ll stop filling your head with nonsense, then. I miss you greatly. I will do what I can for you, and for Lana. You need to focus on resting and getting well. And I’ll be here when you’re ready to talk.” 

His eyes moved to the clock, and he waited as he watched the hours tick by. 

…

Mary Eunice lived in a haze. The days passed in a cloud, voices bleeding into voices, light bleeding into light. She didn’t feel very much. When she did, it was pain, but then the warmth would enter her veins again and chase away the pain. She could hear things, and she could smell things. Occasionally, she would taste salt in her mouth. 

_ Where am I? _ She had no idea how to ask the question.  _ What happened? _ She recognized none of the voices above her, and though she wanted to reach out to them, this peace was too nice. She could sleep as much as she wanted. Her body never ached. She was comfortable. Perhaps it didn’t matter what had happened or where she was; she felt good. She felt safe. A wreath of holy light surrounded her and protected her. Nothing else mattered. 

Well, one thing did. She hadn’t heard Lana’s voice at all, and while she had no way to gauge how much time had passed, she did know it had been far too long for Lana not to be with her.  _ Did I die?  _ She couldn’t remember anything happening that would have predicated her death. 

Her last memory: kissing Lana goodbye and running from her house to get into Lois’s car on their way to work. She did not remember reaching Lois’s car. Had something happened in the yard? Perhaps someone had seen them kiss and shot her. Perhaps a tree had fallen and squished her. Perhaps a new species of venomous snake had sprung up and bitten her and the venom had quickly paralyzed her body—this would explain the comfort, the lack of pain. 

But, truly, she had no idea. 

She knew nothing except she hadn’t heard Lana’s voice or smelled her perfume, and this concerned her immensely. Nothing she encountered in this new, foggy consciousness was familiar to her. The unknown did not frighten her, with its smells of sterile alcohol pads and the occasional waft of smoker’s breath when one of those unfamiliar voices loomed over her. It probed her curiosity. How had she gotten separated from Lana? 

At one point, she smelled something familiar.  _ I smell Santa Claus.  _ He was near, and he talked to her like a friend—the words were unclear, but the tone comforting and filled with love. For the first time, a true sensation pierced this cloud as Santa Claus took her hand into his own. Her cold fingers heated with his caress. 

Once the Santa Claus smell came, he didn’t leave. He spoke to her periodically, words fading from unclear and then into distinction, never long enough for her to hear a whole sentence. “We’re waiting for you,” and, “Seven days.” She heard these at different intervals. Sometimes, Santa Claus cried. Hearing him sob broke her heart.  _ Maybe I didn’t bake enough cookies for him. _ She couldn’t remember baking cookies, but it was Christmas time. She remembered that.  _ I wish we could’ve gone to Georgia. I wanted to see Lana’s family again.  _ She enjoyed traveling, getting to cross the state lines and feeling enlightened as she did so. She had scarcely left Boston in her life; getting to leave the state filled her with excitement. 

_ Don’t worry, Santa, I’ll bake more cookies next year.  _ He would have no reason to cry. He held her hand, stroking the back of it. “Forgive me, darling. The nurse says your companion is threatening to pull me out by my ear if I don’t go home and shower and change clothes. I know I’ve pushed my limits if that crazy one is threatening me.” He chuckled, a wry, dark thing, and then he continued his whispered words. “As a priest, I fear nothing but God, but as a man… Lana scares me.”  _ Santa Claus is also a priest?  _ Mary Eunice had not heard this much before, especially so clearly. He kissed the back of her hand. “So I’ll leave you for tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow morning.”  _ Santa Claus is leaving me?  _ Well, she supposed he probably had more presents to deliver. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” 

Mary Eunice slept. She knew she slept, because when she awoke, the fog had lifted. Sensations passed over her fingertips. Her ankle throbbed. The fabric on her back and under her arms itched. Her head itched. For the first time, she could localize the sensations she felt… but she was less comfortable. “Good morning, nurse.”

“Good morning, Mr. McKee. Nothing has changed overnight.”  _ Mr. McKee… _ Mary Eunice’s face curled into a grimace. If her father was here, she was definitely dead. But why on earth did death hurt so much? This was an awfully inconvenient death. She had always imagined death as the immediate release from all pain, rising up from her mortal body and running spry as a bird into the arms of her parents and everyone else she had left. 

The Santa Claus smell wreathed around her again. The door clicked closed. “Good morning, dear.” That voice. She knew that voice… but it wasn’t her father’s. His burly hands caressed her own. “I’m starting to think I may have really hurt my back in my foolish attempt to carry Lana to bed, the night she found me. I must have forgotten I’m not forty anymore. But I couldn’t stand to see her so miserable. I had to put her to bed. I would have done the same for you, after all.” He thumbed through a book. “I hope you can hear some of what I’m saying. I’d feel quite ignorant if it turned out you weren’t in there at all.” 

_ I’m in here. I can’t figure out who you are.  _ She knew she should know him, but without looking at him, it was difficult. And her eyes were oh-so-heavy. They weren’t ready to open yet. “My mother always said my faith was both my greatest strength and my worst vulnerability. So I will choose to keep faith you are here with me.” He flipped through the pages of the book. “And, in the interest of that, I feel I should keep talking to you. Lana is right outside, in the waiting room. She’s waiting for you to wake up and tell them she can come in. They won’t let her in until you say so.” 

A sad, gruff sound came from him. “Between you and me… I think they only want to bar her because of the relationship between the two of you. I told them I was your father, and I wasn’t questioned—not even once.” He laughed a sad laugh. “You’ve got Lana trained up well, you know. When I first told her what I intended to do, she said, ‘Isn’t that a sin?’ I told her she sounded just like you.” 

The book slammed closed. He had, apparently, decided not to read from it for the time being. “I still remember the first time your Monsignor contacted me and asked me to meet with you. Truthfully, I was expecting someone much more fierce. Many nuns are kept for their fiery personalities. But not you. You were as meek as a lamb. You still are. But you are strong, too. I hope you know that.” His large fingers followed the creases in the palm of her hand. “I pray you are not resentful of me for some of the things I said to you toward the beginning of our friendship. If I had known about the feelings you harbored for Miss Winters, I never would have been so forward with you. You made me a more open-minded, loving man. I am eternally grateful for that.” 

Then, his fingers drummed a rhythm on hers, and he sang in a low, rough voice, “On Christ the solid rock I stand… All other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.”

_ My Hope Is Built On Nothing Less.  _ Mary Eunice’s eyelashes fluttered. She couldn’t open them yet. “You’re not Santa Claus,” she mumbled.  _ Father Joseph.  _ She remembered. He had given her that song, the old Lutheran hymn. Her hand wrapped around his two longest fingers like a baby clutching something that fell into her palm. 

The book fell onto the floor with a loud thump. “I—” His voice cracked and died into a croak. “No, dear, no, I’m not—Santa Claus?” He cleared his throat. “Do you know who I am?”

“Mhm…” Bright lights shone beyond her eyelids. She elected not to open them. “Father Joseph.” As she grew more aware, the aches pulsed through her with more force. Her lips twisted downward. Her dry mouth stung. Her lips were chapped, but her tongue had stuck to the bottom of her mouth and refused to lift from it. “What happened?” 

A cap popped, the sound of a lid leaving the end of a chapstick, and her face twitched as Father Joseph applied chapstick to her sore mouth. “You were in an accident outside your work, crossing the street. Do you remember?” 

_ No. _ Her jaw shifted. As it did, it cracked. “No…” Her throat ached. She wanted something to drink, but none of her limbs seemed to want to cooperate with her, and speaking hurt enough as it was. “I was… kissing Lana goodbye.” Lois honked from the street. She patted Gus on the head, kissed Lana goodbye, and marched across the lawn toward the car. “I never made it to the car.” The memory ended there, forever in the center of the yard, looking out toward Lois with a skip in her step as the sky spat the first hints of the oncoming storm. 

“You were crossing the street to return a wallet to a customer, and a teenage driver hit a patch of black ice and hit you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Is he okay?” Some child was out there in the world, traumatized and mourning the loss of a vehicle, and somehow everyone was worried about her? She hadn’t done anything to warrant all this attention. 

Each breath pierced her chest. Father Joseph breathed an airy laugh, wry and sad. “He wasn’t hurt, no.” Mary Eunice’s scalp itched. Her arms refused to cooperate, all cold and still, but she could turn her neck. As she did so, she tried to rub the itchy spot on the rough fabric of the pillow case. “Ah—careful, there, you’ve got stitches in your head.” 

Her eyelashes fluttered again. “Why?”  _ Stitches? In my head? _ Who on earth would do such a thing, and why?

“You had a fractured skull. Mary Eunice, you must understand, you’re lucky to be alive… Saving your life was no small feat.” She tried to drink in another breath, but the pain pierced her chest again, and it hitched. “Are you in pain?” At his question, she grunted an affirmative. “Let me call for the nurse.” 

Lying still hurt, but so did trying to shift on the hard bed.  _ Fractured skull… _ Her whole body felt fractured. “How long…?” 

“This is the eighth day.” 

_ Eight days? _ Her face churned into a grimace. “Where… Where’s Lana?” Eight days and Lana wasn’t here? Something must have happened to her. She had  _ never _ heard Lana’s voice or smelled her perfume the whole time she had been here. 

“She’s in the waiting room. They aren’t allowed to let her in until you consent, because she’s not a blood relative.” He stroked the back of her hand. “I told them I was your father so they would let me in.” 

_ I remember… They called him Mr. McKee. He explained it before. _ She hadn’t understood it then, exactly, but now it made sense. Her lips twisted. “Lying is a sin.”

He chuckled. “That’s what Lana said.” 

Footsteps bustled into the room. “Mr. McKee, can I help you?” Mary Eunice shifted her head on the pillow. “Miss McKee?” 

“She’s in pain,” Father Joseph said. “And she would like to see Lana Winters, in the waiting room.” 

The nurse hesitated. “Is that the case, Miss McKee?”

Eyelashes flickered, and this time, for the first time, they managed to open. The blinding lights sent them crossing and scrambling to focus, stinging, but then she found the nurse hovering just above her. “Yes, please… I want Lana.” Her voice broke off in a series of coughs. Each one split her chest with agony. She blinked, trying to work through the bleariness in her mind. 

The nurse pressed the button to raise the head of her bed. “Will you rate your pain for me on a scale of one to ten?” 

“Er…”  _ Well, it’s pretty awful, but it’d probably be worse if somebody sat on my chest or kicked me a couple of times. _ “Um, a six? Seven, maybe?” Seven was pushing it. 

The woman touched her shoulder. That also hurt. “Alright. I’ll get you some pain medicine and some water, and then I’ll go get your friend. Do you think you would be able to have something to eat?” 

The thought of eating anything paled in comparison to having a sip of water. “Yeah…” she croaked. Maybe, once her mouth was wetter, she could consider it. 

“Then I’ll talk to the doctor and see if we can have that nasogastric tube pulled, alright? I’m sure that’s not very comfortable for you.”  _ I don’t really feel it compared to everything else.  _ “Give me a few minutes. I’ll be right back.” 

She left the room. Mary Eunice’s blurred vision died as she lost the strength to hold her eyes open. The light sliced through her skull and caused a headache to reverberate through her. Her jaw set tightly. “Oh, dear…” Father Joseph touched her hand, but his low voice echoed in a painful way. He left her side. The lights turned off. “You get your rest.” 

The nurse hurried back. Mary Eunice didn’t open her eyes. “This ought to take the edge off a little. But it may make you feel kind of loopy, alright?” Mary Eunice grunted her agreement. “You’ll be chilled out in no time. I promise.” She pressed the end of a straw to Mary Eunice’s lips, and Mary Eunice sucked on it. The cold water stung on the inside of her mouth. It coated her cheeks and her tongue. She drank with greedy swallows until the ice cubes at the bottom hissed with emptiness. “My, oh, my, somebody was thirsty. I’ll refill this. Then I’ll talk to your doctor and see if we can pull your catheter.” 

Again, she left the room. Mary Eunice counted the sounds of Father Joseph’s breaths until the sound didn’t hurt anymore, and then she opened her eyes. Without the overhead light, the room was much dimmer, only the light from outside filtering into the window. She blinked a few times. Father Joseph’s face came into focus. Her tongue danced across her lips. Her throat ached less now that she had drunk some water. 

Her bleary mind skipped a few beats at the sight of him, a broken record skipping an ugly tone. Warmth spread up her arm. The pleasant tingle coursed over her whole body. The pain dimmed. Her mind, also, dimmed. “Why is your face naked?” 

He snorted. “Feeling loopy already, hm?” Her eyelashes fluttered.  _ Perhaps. _ She rubbed her lips against each other. “I was afraid I would be recognized, so I decided a bare-faced look would disguise me in plain sight. Truthfully, Lana’s response made me feel a little insecure about the whole thing.” 

“You don’t look like Santa Claus anymore…” Father Joseph laughed again. “Still smell like him.” 

“I didn’t think I looked much like Santa Claus in the first place, you know.” Mary Eunice’s groggy eyes scanned him, blurring and dancing in shimmers. “Nor was I aware I smelled like him.” 

“Mhm… smell like Santa Claus. Sugar, spice, ‘nd everything nice.” Mary Eunice yawned. 

Two raps on the door echoed through the small room. Blue eyes ambled from Father Joseph to Lana’s frame as she opened the door and pulled the curtain. Mary Eunice’s cloudy eyes crossed. Lana’s hand flew to her face, covering her mouth as she saw Mary Eunice for the first time. Father Joseph stood as she entered the room, holding out an arm in greeting. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “She’s a little loopy. The nurse just gave her some medication. She thinks I’m Santa Claus.”

Lana’s brow quirked as she gasped a short laugh, eyes glimmering. “Not think he’s Santa Claus, just think he  _ smells _ like him,” Mary Eunice clarified in a thick voice. 

Wiping away her tears with the back of her fingers, Lana nodded. “You do smell like Santa Claus. It’s very comforting. It’s like hugging the world’s nicest grandpa.”

Father Joseph touched the small of her back, raising his eyebrows with incredulity, but he didn’t take the opportunity to question either of them. “I’ll give the two of you some privacy, okay? I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” He gave Mary Eunice’s hand a final squeeze, and then he shuffled out of the room and closed the door behind him. 

Lana sat in the chair he had vacated, drawing it up close beside Mary Eunice’s bedside. “Hey, there, sunshine.” She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand again. “Your beautiful hair…” Mary Eunice’s eyes struggled to focus on Lana’s face. “I missed you so much. I was so worried.” Lana caressed her cheek. Her hand was wet and sticky. 

Nuzzling into her touch, Mary Eunice purred a happy sound. “I missed you, cupcake.” She kissed the palm of Lana’s hand. “What’s wrong with my hair?” she mumbled. 

“Nothing, nothing, honey, your hair is beautiful. You’re beautiful. I’m so glad you’re okay.” Lana bowed down and kissed the crown of her head. Her tears kept falling, landing on Mary Eunice’s face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She took a tissue from the bedside table and smeared them away. “I’m so sorry.” She swept what was left of Mary Eunice’s hair out of the way and stroked it. “How do you feel?” 

“Can I hold your hand?” Lana perked up at the abrupt question, but she eagerly placed her hand in Mary Eunice’s, giving it a firm squeeze. Mary Eunice clutched in return, folding their fingers together. “Why are you crying? I’m okay… I’m okay.”  _ Did I upset her?  _ Mary Eunice found it increasingly difficult to hold a consistent train of thought. She stroked the back of Lana’s hand with her thumb, rubbing it in lazy, clumsy circles. “I’m awake now… I’m okay… The nurse says I’ll be fine…”

Her voice crackled with dryness. She was thirsty again, and the nurse hadn’t brought another cup of water yet. Lana sniffed. “Yes, sweetheart, I know… I’m—I’m just so relieved.” She blew her nose into a tissue from the nightstand and tossed it into the trash. “I was so afraid. They wouldn’t let me in, I couldn’t see you… Father Joseph told me some things, but it wasn’t the same. I was so scared.” Mary Eunice’s lips twisted downward at the corners, fighting to keep her eyes open. “You can sleep, sunshine. It’s alright. I won’t leave. I’m staying right here.” 

Mary Eunice shook her head, resisting the urge to comply and give in to sleep. “I don’t want to sleep… I missed you…” She  _ had _ missed Lana. She had obsessed over Lana’s absence from the moment she had gained some form of consciousness. Opening her eyes, the room was a smear of color, but she focused on the blob of Lana’s face. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I never meant to scare you.”  _ I would be sick if something ever happened to Lana. _ She wouldn’t have known where to start, what to do with herself. “I love you, Lana.” 

“I love you, too.” Lana pecked her once on the lips. “You can rest… I’ll be here when you wake up,” she insisted, but Mary Eunice shook her head, a stark refusal. “How do you feel?” Lana asked again. “Are you in pain? Is that why you can’t sleep?” 

_ I feel thirsty. _ Mary Eunice licked her front teeth. “No, I—I don’t hurt much, now.” The morphine had made her warm and happy all over. “I feel… lucky.” 

“Lucky?” Lana questioned. She squeezed Mary Eunice’s hand. “Sunshine, you  _ almost died. _ Do you see yourself—tied up in this bed, you look so sick—” Lana’s breath hitched. “You’re lucky to be  _ alive _ , but it would’ve been lucky to never have had this in the first place—” She quivered from head to toe, her breath increasing in speed.  _ I’m upsetting her, _ Mary Eunice realized. “I’m sorry,” Lana gnashed out between her teeth, and she released Mary Eunice’s hand to fumble into her purse for her bottle of pills. “Sunshine, I’m sorry, I’ve been worrying myself sick—” She gulped down two pills. 

Mary Eunice held her hand out, and she waited for Lana’s clammy palm to return to her own hand. It did, soon. Her other arm, all numb and stiff from lack of movement, swam through the air to tuck a lock of Lana’s greasy, rank hair behind her ear. “I’m lucky,” she murmured, “because I fell in love with my best friend… who went through all of this just for me.” She turned her head to lift her eyes up to Lana’s swollen face, her lips buffering against one another. “I’m so lucky to have you. I’m really glad you’re here with me.”

Lana shook her head. “Sunshine, I—” Her voice choked off. “I can’t imagine this world without you.” She kissed the back of Mary Eunice’s hand, peppering each finger with a kiss. “I was so afraid you were going to die alone, like Wendy—I was so afraid.” Her breath hitched. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you.” 

Eyes burning, Mary Eunice squinted up at Lana. “I’d fight the whole army of God before I let anything take me away from you.” A tired sigh flowed from between her lips. 

Beads jangled on the nightstand. Lana extended her rosary to her. “Here. Do you want to pray your rosary with me?” Heavy eyes closed, but Mary Eunice nodded. “There…” She folded the beads around Mary Eunice’s fingers, the rosary knotting their hands together. “There we go.” Lana’s fingers jittered up against hers. “Tell me how it goes. I don’t know all of the prayers that well.” 

Mary Eunice’s numb arm loosely made the Sign of the Cross. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” Lana mirrored her actions. “I believe in God, the Father almighty creator of heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. On the third day he rose again from the dead…” Mary Eunice fingered the crucifix and Lana’s fingers in turn. The beads grew warmer under their touch. Her voice thickened and dried as she spoke. “He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of God, the Father almighty. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen.” 

Echoing a soft, “Amen,” Lana’s fingers guided Mary Eunice’s onto the first large bead. She didn’t need the guidance, but Mary Eunice appreciated her touch. Lana led this prayer. “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread.” She cleared her throat. Her voice sounded less clogged by tears, steadier and less shaky. “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…” She paused. Habit made her want to say the exultation, but she knew it was not the Catholic way, so she did not. “Amen.” 

Their fingers moved to the string of three beads. “How many?” Lana asked. 

“Three. For—”

“For Faith, Hope, and Charity.” Lana stroked the back of her hand. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee,” they spoke in unison. “Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.” 

They repeated it three times. By the last, Mary Eunice’s voice was a dull, empty lull, barely forming the words. Lana didn’t know the next part. The door creaked as Father Joseph tiptoed back into the room. Mary Eunice’s lips buffered, but she didn’t stir as he stood beside Lana, and he whispered to her, “Glory be to the Father…”

At the prompting, Lana continued, “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Amen.” Mary Eunice’s fingers shifted to the first decade of beads. 

Father Joseph pushed a tiny book into Lana’s hands, open to a page titled  _ Joyful Mysteries, _ and Lana read aloud, “The First Joyful Mystery—the Incarnation.” She cleared her throat. “The time for the Incarnation is at hand. Of all women God prepared Mary from her conception to be the Mother of the Incarnate Word. The Angel Gabriel announces: ‘Hail, full of grace! The Lord is with thee.’ Mary wonders at this salutation.” Dark eyes darted up to look at Mary Eunice, whose hand still clung to the rosary joining them together, though her lips had finally ceased their struggle to move. “The Angel assures her: ‘Fear not . . . you shall conceive in your womb, and give birth to a Son.’ Mary is troubled for she has made a vow of virginity. The Angel answers that she will conceive by the power of the Holy Spirit, and her Son will be called the Son of God…” 

Clammy fingers loosened from the rosary as Mary Eunice surrendered her last clutches on consciousness. Lana drifted off. Father Joseph took back his tiny book of mysteries as Lana unwound the rosary from around her fingers, rolling it up in Mary Eunice’s hand. “Sweet dreams, sunshine.” She leaned forward and pressed her lips to her forehead, brushing her hair out of the way so she could see her face clearly. 

She leaned back in her chair. Father Joseph’s hand touched her shoulder. Her eyes lifted up to him. “Thank you, Father.” 

“Thank  _ you, _ Miss Winters.” 

Part of Lana wanted to ask. Part of her already understood. They rested in the silence, both of them watching the rise-fall of Mary Eunice’s chest as she slept soundly before them. 


End file.
